


are there still beautiful things?

by scarlettroses



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Ableism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Autistic Albert DaSilva, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Canon Era, Child Abuse, Friends to Lovers, M/M, his dad is a real jerk, i love that that's a real tag, it takes place from like 1890 to 1900
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28221300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlettroses/pseuds/scarlettroses
Summary: "Do you think I oughta run away then?" Albert asks, after a while of walking in contemplative silence. "I could pack all my dolls and bring 'em to the lodging house so we could share. We could have a sleepover every night!"Race turns to him with a massive grin, showing off his missing front teeth."Wouldn't that be swell!?"-based on "seven" by taylor swift, a look at racetrack higgins and albert dasilva from ages seven to seventeen.
Relationships: Albert DaSilva/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 9
Kudos: 26





	are there still beautiful things?

**Author's Note:**

> hello! before you ask, yes i know i have chaptered fics i should be working on. this fic idea just kind of ate away at my brain until i wrote it, though, so we'l be back to our regularly scheduled programming in no time.
> 
> i watched the long pond sessions this week, and listening to taylor talk about how she wrote "seven" made me listen to the lyrics a little closer and, i mean... it's a ralbert song. you can't tell me otherwise. probably over half the lines in the song are referenced here somehow, so if you know your taylor, this should be fun! i literally threw in as many subtle (and not-so-subtle) references as i could.
> 
> a quick note: this story is non-chronological, and the ending comes first! their ages are mentioned pretty early on in each scene, so it shouldn't be too confusing. also, it's in the tags but i'll mention it here too- there are some pretty heavy themes of ablesim in the scene with albert's dad, since albert is autistic (i hope i've done an okay job portraying that btw! i'm not personally autistic so if you catch something that doesn't seem right please let me know!) and his dad is very much an asshole about it.
> 
> anyways, please enjoy this angsty (but sweet) little fic!

_love you to the moon (and to saturn)_

"Sometimes I wonder if maybe in another world... we could get married."

Albert can't help the amused grin that spreads across his face. He runs his fingers gently through Race's hair.

"Married?" he asks, laughing softly. "The two of us?"

Race nods. He's sleepy, laying with his head on Albert's chest while the moonlight from above illuminates his bare back. They're curled up on the fire escape of the lodging house, the only place they can get any privacy, where the heat of the August night is stifling even with the breeze flowing past them. They're near enough to the river that the air is heavy and humid, making it feel even hotter.

"Yeah," Race sighs. "I'd be like your housewife or something... house-husband, I guess? And we could adopt a couple of orphans and be just like any other family. I think that'd be nice."

Albert laughs yet again. Seventeen is a little young to think about marriage, but he supposes he might as well entertain the idea. He's been told he tends to take things too literally— which is tricky, because sometimes Race is so sarcastic that it's hard to tell when he's being serious— so he now makes the conscious choice to use his imagination and go along with this little fantasy.

"Would you wear a wedding dress when we get married, then?" he asks. "I think you'd look good in white. You oughta carry blue flowers to make your eyes stand out."

Race giggles into Albert's chest and shakes his head.

"Not a chance, I ain't no dame. The whole point is that in _my_ world, two fellas can marry each other and that's just fine."

"Is your world on the moon?" Albert asks. "That's crazy."

"I _know_ it's crazy," Race whines. "But wouldn't it be nice? I think I love you more than I could ever love some girl... I'd rather marry you instead."

Somehow, Albert finds himself a little choked up at that. It comes on suddenly, and he tucks his head down to hide his face in Race's hair for a moment.

Race loves him. He loves Race. They love each other, and if it were possible, they'd get married. It's _not_ possible, though. That's the problem.

"You okay?" Race looks up, forcing him out of his hiding place. He frowns and cups Albert's cheek in his hand. "Hey... I'm sorry. I didn't mean no harm, baby. I'm just talkin' nonsense, I ain't meant to make you upset."

Albert shakes his head, still trying to fight back tears.

"I'm not upset at you," he mumbles, hating that his voice is wet. "I'm just... _sad_ , I guess. Kinda wish the world was different. Wish I _could_ marry you."

Race's gaze softens even further, and he uses his thumb to gently brush away one of the tears threatening to fall from Albert's eyes. He still can't believe he's crying over this— it feels so silly.

"I'll take you to the moon then," Race says. "Soon as they figure out a flying machine, I'll take you to the moon and marry you there."

Albert manages a laugh through his tears.

"Until then?"

"Til then, I'll keep loving you in secret." Race leans up to kiss his lips gently. "And maybe someday, when the world's a better place, folks like us won't have to be a secret anymore. We just gotta keep doin' our part, and them future folks will remember us for being so brave and loving each other when we wasn't supposed to."

-

_and i've been meaning to tell you..._

"I think your house is haunted."

They're seven years old and walking hand-in-hand, just like Jack told them to, so they don't get lost. Jack isn't even that much older than them, only a few years, but he used to sell with them before they were old enough to go off on their own, so he's a little protective. 

Albert frowns.

"Haunted? Like there's a ghost what lives there?"

Race nods, and in Albert's little mind, this boy who's a whole five months older than him is practically all-knowing. If Race says so, it must be true.

"A sneaky ghost what hates kids," Race elaborates. "That's why your old man's so mean all the time. The ghost tells him to be bad, and he's scared of it, so he has to listen. It's really the ghost tellin' him to hurt you."

Albert considers it for a moment. A ghost playing mean tricks on him would certainly explain a lot— that's why his father is so mean to him, and why his mother had to go away, and why it's always so cold and dirty at home and there's never any food, and why the only safe place to hide is curled up on the floor of the closet. It's an awfully mean ghost to do all this to him, but maybe that's just what ghosts do.

"I s'pose you're right," Albert says, kicking at a rock with his shoe (which is too small for him and aches his toes something awful.) "I wonder how you get rid of a ghost."

Race hums in thought, swinging their hands between them. They sell papes together every day, wandering through the same few blocks of Manhattan in their usual pattern. They're all sold out right now— the morning edition had a great headline and the evening paper isn't out just yet, so they're taking an extra long walk down streets they don't normally traffic.

"I don't think you can," Race finally states. "My house had a ghost and that's why I had to run away— my big sister told me the ghost couldn't get me at the lodging house, an' that's why she dropped me off. I figures she was gonna try to get ridda the ghost herself so our folks would stop yellin' so much. I don't think it worked, or else she woulda come back for me."

Albert squeezes Race's hand a little tighter, unable to stop the frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"She ain't ever came back? Did you never see your folks again?"

Race shrugs, like he can't be bothered to care about no longer having a family. He always seems so happy, though Albert has noticed times when he thinks no one's looking and he seems a little sad. Those are the days that Albert makes sure to do something nice for him— he'll make him a funny little hat out of a spare pape, or he'll dart into a store and steal a candy stick to share.

"I don't need folks," Race replies, as matter-of-fact as ever. "They're prob'ly still stuck with the ghost, so I wouldn't wanna go back home anyways. I don't even remember what none of 'em looked like, really... I know my sister always had long braids in her hair, 'cause she'd get mad if I tied 'em in knots to make patterns."

Albert giggles at the thought of Race terrorizing his family the same way he messes with the bigger newsies all the time. Sometimes Albert wishes he had a big sister instead of his brothers, since they're so much older than him and not very nice— they only want to play with him if it's roughhousing, and they often break his toys on purpose because they think it's funny when he loses control of his emotions and has tantrums. Race's sister sounds lovely, like she probably never broke his toys and played nice with him all the time— and it was awfully brave of her to fight the ghost all by herself.

"Do you think I oughta run away then?" Albert asks, after a while of walking in contemplative silence. "I could pack all my dolls and bring 'em to the lodging house so we could share. We could have a sleepover every night!"

Race turns to him with a massive grin, showing off his missing front teeth.

"Wouldn't that be swell!?" he giggles. "You should— ain't no ghosts at the lodge, far as I know. Only thing scary there is when we was playing pirates last night and Jack was being a sea monster, so me and Blink and Henry was pretending the beds were our boats. You could share my bunk with me and we'd both be safe from ghosts _and_ Jack-monsters."

Truly, Albert has never felt safer than when he's holding hands with Race, he squeezes tight and giggles along with him. They're going to be friends forever and ever, and they're going to learn how to fight ghosts someday so that no more kids have to live in haunted houses, and maybe they'll be pirates too and fight the big scary sea monsters.

"I think that sounds good," Albert resolves. "I'll come over tonight."

-

_i was too scared to jump in_

Seven year-olds aren't as sneaky as they think they are, and Albert was caught before he could even reach for the door. His father beat the hell out of him, told him never to even think about pulling a stunt like that again, and that was the end of it. It worked— he _didn't_ try again, and now he's thirteen and still stuck in this horrible haunted house, all alone now that his brothers have moved out.

Well, he knows it's not really _haunted_ , seeing as he's all grown up and rather sure that ghosts aren't real, but he still takes some comfort in thinking about it that way. Every time his father is a little too harsh, screaming at him or slapping him or doing any of those other awful things, Albert pictures the malevolent kid-hating ghost that Race had once told him about. In his head, the ghost has practically become synonymous with the empty liquor bottles that litter their floor— they both make his father crazy and angry, so they're practically one and the same.

"What are you looking at when you stare off into space like that, boy?" Albert is jerked back to reality by his father smacking him around the side of the head. "You know, sometimes I think you're fucked in the head. I wonder where I went wrong to make you so stupid. There's no fixing you, is there?"

Albert stays silent. He knows better than to talk back, so he just tucks his head down and tries to make himself as small as possible where he sits on the ratty old couch. He's not stupid and there's nothing wrong with him— he's sure of that. His dad just wants to hurt his feelings.

It's working, but he's trying not to show it.

"Come on," his father taunts, the stench of liquor wafting off his breath. "I know you know how to talk, you're not _that_ dumb. Say _something_ to prove you're not just a worthless idiot."

Albert bites down on the inside of his cheek and tries to keep his composure. He doesn't particularly want to talk, and he's so overwhelmed right now that he's not even sure words will come to him if he tries. He's not sure what triggered his father's horrible mood tonight, but he's scared that any next move he makes will only make things worse.

"You're drunk, dad," he ends up mumbling, scared of the consequences of staying silent when he was told to speak. He wrings his hands together and keeps his head down. "Please leave me alone."

A hand gripping his hair and a backhand across the face. He supposes that must not have been the right answer.

He wants so badly to get up and run away. He's tall and slight with long legs, having hit his growth spurt a little early, so he could easily outrun his dad— if he could get out the door, there'd be no stopping him. He could run to the lodging house, just like he promised all those years ago, and he'd be safe with Race. There's no ghosts at the lodging house— metaphorical or otherwise.

He's _scared_ , though. Unpredictability makes him deeply uncomfortable, and even the thought of deviating from his typical routine makes his stomach twist. He'd have to sleep in a new bed, surrounded by the noise of all the other boys, and everything would be different than what he's used to. Of course he dislikes his father's constant yelling and hitting, but that's _normal._ Albert's entire daily routine would be disrupted without it, and the thought of that is nearly paralyzing. He hates things the way they are, but he also hates the prospect of going through with any kind of massive change.

"You good-for-nothing piece of _shit_! You think you can pull that kind of attitude with me!?"

His dad is shouting now, and Albert finds himself clamping his hands over his ears. Sometimes it feels like his father is trying to goad him into one of his meltdowns, where he gets so overwhelmed that he cries and screams with the ferocity of a child who has yet to learn to be civil. He can't control it, and maybe that's proof that there _is_ something wrong with his brain— maybe that's why his father seems to want it to happen, just for the vindication.

He squeezes his eyes shut and pulls his knees up to his chest, while keeping his ears covered. He's not going to cry. He's not going to freak out. He's going to sit here and wait until his dad gets bored or passes out, and then he'll quietly put himself to bed and wait to do it all again tomorrow.

He so desperately wishes he could've run away with Race before it all got this bad.

-

 _cross your heart, don't tell no other_.

They're fifteen when Albert shows up to the lodging house, out of the blue.

It's late at night— the front doors are locked, since curfew has come and gone, and everyone is expected to be in bed. Race is a bit of a night owl though, so he often climbs out onto the fire escape to have a smoke or simply look down at the alley and think his silly little thoughts. Other boys sometimes join him, but tonight he's all by his lonesome.

The streets are nearly empty, as the lodge is off down a side street that doesn't get much traffic even on a busy afternoon, so Race takes great pleasure in people-watching whenever someone does come by at this hour. He hears a person running before he actually sees them, so he leans over the railing of the fire escape to watch for them. He's certainly not expecting it to be _Albert._

Albert stops outside the building and stoops over to catch his breath— he's heaving, probably some mixture of panicked and exhausted. He lives several blocks away, a good fifteen minute walk, and he must have run all the way here. Race is halfway down the stairs before he even realizes his feet are moving underneath him, sprinting down the steps two-by-two.

"Al!" he calls, which makes Albert's head snap up to look for him. He looks like he's been trampled by a horse and wagon— busted up worse than Race has ever seen him. "Jesus fucking Christ, what happened to you!?"

Albert's eyes land on Race, but he instantly averts his gaze. He seems sort of angry, so Race approaches slowly, almost like he's trying not to startle a horse.

"What do you think?" Albert snaps as he wipes his eyes, though there's no real malice behind it. He seems more scared and frustrated than anything else. "The old man lost his damn mind again, 'cause we couldn't pay the rent and that's somehow _my_ fault." He swallows thickly, and his anger seems to dissolve. His voice is much softer when he continues. "He got so mad, and he smashed a bottle, and I thought he was about to _kill_ me... I ain't thought two seconds about it, I just ran."

Race is speechless for a second— that's _horrifying_. He knew Albert's family was awful, but this is his first time finding out the sheer extent of it. If nearly dying was the last straw Albert needed before running away, god knows what he was putting up with before now.

"Jesus..." Race whispers, and he steps closer to finally take Albert's face in his hands and inspect him under the dim streetlight. Albert flinches a little at the contact, but ultimately relaxes into it. "You look like hell."

"I _feel_ like hell," Albert replies. He finally looks up at Race, not quite meeting his gaze, and seems almost desperate. "Don't tell no one what happened, okay? Cross your heart, Racer— if anyone asks, I got jumped."

Race nods, still sort of out of his depth. He can't look away from the bruise that's slowly darkening on Albert's cheek, all the way up to his eye that's gone all puffy and swollen. It looks like it hurts something awful, but Albert hardly seems phased. That must speak to how often he deals with things like this, which is entirely heartbreaking.

"Okay," Race finally says. "Cross my heart, hope to die, stick ten needles in my eye... the whole thing. You got jumped, 'cause you're such a badass that goes lookin' for fights. We oughta see the other guys."

Albert laughs softly, averting his eyes again.

"Thanks," he says, and Race's promise seems to have calmed him down significantly. He pauses, and then smiles sort of fondly. "Remember when we were kids, and you said I could come here and share your bunk? _Ain't no ghosts at the lodging house_?"

Race breathes out an almost-laugh at the memory, still cradling Albert's swollen, bruised face. What silly kids they'd been— he'd nearly forgotten all about his ghost theory, the story his sister had told him to explain why she was leaving him at the lodging house when he was barely even five years old.

She couldn't have been older than eight or nine at the time, though she'd practically been an adult in Race's eyes. From what he can remember, she was the one who took care of him— their parents were loud and violent, and they lived in a crowded home that must have been a shared tenement with several other families. He doesn't remember much about it. In fact, he's now realizing that he can't even recall his sister's face, which makes his heart ache a little. He still loves her— he hopes she knows that, wherever she is.

Back in the present, he lets his thumb brush over Albert's cheekbone, as gently as possible.

"Of course I do," he says. He doesn't feel there's much to smile about right now, but he mirrors Albert's expression anyways. "The offer still stands, if that's what you're asking. Ain't no ghosts, though Jack still plays sea monster and pirates with the little ones sometimes. We might have to fight a Jack-monster."

This pulls a real laugh from Albert, and he closes his eyes as he leans forward into Race's touch. Their foreheads are nearly pressed together, and Race has half a mind to just lean in and close the gap.

"I think we can handle a Jack-monster," Albert sighs. He's quiet for a second, thinking, and then he continues in a whisper. " _Thank you_ , Racer. For everything. You don't know how much you mean to me."

 _Oh_.

Race blinks. Are they having a _moment_ right now? He can feel his heart in his throat, and he's not entirely sure what to say. He brushes his thumb on Albert's cheek again.

"I love you, Al," is what tumbles out of his mouth, and even he's not sure where that came from. He's said it before, always casually and usually while they're joking around, but this feels different. _Real_. He finally lets their heads lean together, still cupping Albert's face. "You're safe now, okay? I ain't ever gonna let you get hurt again."

Albert laughs again, gentle and soft— they can never have a serious moment, can they?— though it doesn't manage to break the air of quiet tension between them.

"I love you too, Racer. So much."

They're still standing on the sidewalk. It's unlikely that anyone will walk past and see them, but Race suddenly remembers that the possibility is still there. He wants so badly to kiss Albert right now— something he can't say he's ever even considered before, but now feels rather desperate for— but they're still out in the open and there's a chance that someone could see. They're probably being too intimate already.

"Come here."

Race takes his hand and pulls him into the dark alley, the little gap between buildings where the lodging house's fire escape is located. Once he's sure they're out of view, neither one of them illuminated by a streetlight, he cradles Albert's face again and presses their lips together.

It's not heated or fervent, as they've still got to mind Albert's battered face, and Race is rather sure that he's not the only one having his first kiss right now, so it's a little messy— but it's _right._ It's like this is how they were meant to end up.

They don't say much more that night. Once they pull apart, Albert is reluctant to even open his eyes, so Race just laughs and pets his hair and suggests they ought to go to bed. They do exactly that, climbing up the fire escape and through the window to settle into Race's bunk, and it's not nearly as overwhelming or nerve-wracking as Albert expected to sleep in a new bed.

The bed, the room, and the atmosphere might be different, but Race is familiar. In the coming days, overwhelmed by change in his routine and worry that his dad will find him and force him to come home, Albert will come to find out that Race is really all he needs. 

**Author's Note:**

> how are we feeling folks... personally i'm a little emotional. i'm not sure why i don't write ralbert more often- i always have so much fun with these characters! (even though i really put them through the wringer here lol)
> 
> please consider leaving a comment if you made it this far!! and if you're reading this around when it was posted, i have a much less angsty newsbians fic on the go for the holiday season, so feel free to check that out! thanks for reading!


End file.
